by Katie Ruggle
Shifting back, hiding a wince at the throbbing in his skull, the earlier events shuffled into place, and he sat bolt upright again. This time, he ignored the pain. “Lexi!”
“She’ll be fine,” Otto said, gently pressing him back with a hand to Hugh’s shoulder. “Dr. Hellman has her.”
Ignoring his partner’s attempts to calm him, Hugh barked, “If she’s fine, why’s she at the vet?”
“For observation.” Theo’s voice was almost a snap. His bedside manner was a little rougher than Otto’s. “She’s got some bruising and is nicked up, but only one cut was big enough for staples.” When Hugh started surging against Otto’s hand again, Theo clarified. “Three. Just three staples. So quit Hulk-ing out.”
Hugh gave him a hard stare, trying to determine whether Theo was softening the truth, but Theo just met him glare for glare. Subsiding against the bed, Hugh asked, “What the hell happened?”
“Someone put a bomb on your truck, blowing it—and almost you and Lexi—into fucking tiny pieces.” That was Theo, as blunt as possible. It was a relief, though, not to have to pry the details out of someone who thought Hugh was too weak or injured to handle them.
Then the meaning of Theo’s words actually hit Hugh. The explosion had been intentional. Someone had tried to kill him.
“Shit.”
Otto snorted. Apparently, he trusted that Hugh wasn’t going to try to run to Dr. Hellman’s to check on Lexi, because he dropped his hand and pulled a chair up to the bed, settling his bulk into it. There was a second chair, but both he and Hugh knew that Theo would never sit. In fact, just standing still was an achievement. Watching Theo practically vibrate with tension, Hugh figured his partner would start pacing at any second. Three…two…one…
Pivoting, Theo took three choppy strides toward the door before turning around and stomping back to the bed. Hugh had to hold back a smile before reality hit again, wiping his expression free of humor. He wondered if his inability to think in a straight line was a symptom of his concussion. He wondered if even wondering about that when his truck had just exploded proved the theory. When he shifted, an unexpected bolt of agony shot from his thigh, and he couldn’t hold back a grunt of pain.
Otto leaned forward again so he could point. “Push this button for pain meds.”
“Forget it.” Hugh didn’t even look where Otto was indicating. “I’ll be fine. Pain meds make me puke.”
“Just push it.”
“No.”
“Then I will.”
“Don’t—” He reached to knock Otto’s hand away, but it was too late. Hugh glared at Otto’s defiantly smug expression and fought back the urge to yell at him. The big lug was concerned about him, and Hugh would probably—okay, definitely—do the same in Otto’s place. Hugh gave his partner a final scowl and then refocused on the explosion that had put him in here.
“Who?” he asked, knowing that he’d skipped a few questions in between, but Otto and Theo would follow his train of thought. His parked truck wouldn’t have exploded on its own. Someone had to have helped it along.
“Who has a grudge against the MPD and plays with bombs?” Theo asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Hugh didn’t take it personally. Anger was pretty much Theo’s default emotion when he felt scared or sad or helpless. Hugh’s multiple trips to the hospital had to be messing with both Theo’s and Otto’s heads.
Once again, he forced himself to focus his straying thoughts. After all, it was important to figure out who had tried to blow him—and Lexi—into pieces. “Gordon Schwartz? You think he’s still around after skipping bail?”
“Probably holed up in his militia compound,” Otto said, stretching his feet in front of him. Although he looked relaxed, Hugh knew he was just as frantic about what had happened as Theo. The two men just displayed it differently.
Focus, Hugh ordered his brain, which sent a zigzagging spear of pain through his head in response. “Yeah. That would make sense. There’s probably a whole underground-bunker village beneath his property. Why me, though? No offense, Theo, but Gordon’s got to hate you more than he hates me. His girlfriend wanted to hurt you; I was just the expendable sidekick.”
“You’re not expendable,” Theo gritted out, and Hugh waved a hand to brush away his partner’s comment.
“To Sherry Baker I was, and that’s the current theory, right? That Gordon—our own local bomb fairy—wants to get revenge for Sherry blowing herself up?” A wave of nausea made Hugh tighten his jaw against the need to hurl, but he wasn’t sure if it was due to the meds or the concussion or the memory of the disturbed stranger that Don’s daughter had become.
“Norman Rounds might know something, but we haven’t been able to locate him since he got out of the hospital,” Theo grumbled.
“Can’t really blame him.” Hugh felt like he was sinking deeper into the bed even as his stomach protested. The drugs were working their way through his system. Hopefully, he’d pass out before the urge to vomit got too strong. Puking was going to hurt. “He tried to stop Sherry, after all. Gordon can’t be too happy with him.”
With a grunt that could’ve been agreement, Theo turned and paced the other direction.
“This is speculation,” Otto grumbled. “We should wait for LT.”
Exhaustion and the dose of pain meds were pulling Hugh down, and the thought of sleeping and escaping his painful reality for a while was tempting. If the lieutenant didn’t hurry, Hugh probably wasn’t going to be awake for his visit. “He’s investigating?”
“Last I heard, he’d ordered a perimeter put up and was waiting for the Denver bomb squad to arrive. He wanted to make sure the scene was safe before investigators started crawling all over it.”
“Right.” Hugh’s eyelids were sinking, despite his best efforts. “Makes…sense.”
Pacing back to the side of the bed, Theo crossed his arms over his chest. “Go to sleep. But you have to knock off this almost-getting-killed bullshit.”
All Hugh could manage was an upward quirk of his lips and a slurred “I’ll do my best.” Then the darkness took him again.
Chapter 8
Grace looked down at herself and sighed. It was just as bad as she’d imagined it would be. Worse, even. After all, there were coveralls. Between those and the knee-high rubber boots that were two sizes too big, Grace knew she looked more unattractive than she ever had in her entire adult life.
At least no one except Nan, the kennel owner, would see her like this. Telling herself to suck it up and be thankful that she was still alive, Grace tromped over to the power washer, passing one of the overhead doors. Both were open to let in the sunshine, and Grace could see the dogs playing in their various exercise yards. Despite the coveralls, she had to admit that some parts of the job weren’t that bad, such as watching the dogs, especially two six-month-old puppies that romped and tumbled over each other. Cleaning up what they’d left behind, however, was not fun…not fun at all. She’d never had a pet as a kid. She liked dogs just fine, but taking care of them had never really been a part of her reality.
Now it was. And a dirty, stinky reality it was.
The empty, smelly kennels weren’t going to clean themselves, though. Resigned, she gave one last mournful thought to her wonderful job at the college where she could dress up in pretty clothes and work her fund-raising magic and change people’s lives. Then she lifted the power washer and got to work.
A squad car pulled up outside, and Grace held her breath. When Otto climbed out of the driver’s side, however, she relaxed and ignored a silly pang of disappointment. He lifted a hand, returning her wave, before heading toward one of the exercise yards where a shy and scared Belgian Malinois huddled against the fence. Nan had told her that the dog was Otto’s special project.
Grace caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She returned her gaze to the squad car and felt a rush of excitement that refused to be squashed. Hugh
must’ve been in the front passenger seat, because now he was standing, leaning on the car and watching her. After hearing about the explosion, about how he almost died, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. She stared at him, unreasonably glad to see him in one piece. Her gaze rose to his face. Even from a distance, she could see his annoying smirk, and her relief dispersed, aggravation taking its place. She resisted the urge to make a rude gesture.
Determined to ignore him, Grace turned away from the squad car, momentarily forgetting the stream of water still jetting from the power washer. It hit a corner of the kennel wall and reflected right back at her, soaking her through in an instant.
With a bitten-off shriek, she turned off the water. Although she didn’t even want to know, Grace couldn’t stop herself from glancing down at her now-drenched coveralls. It was bad. Patting her loose bun, she tried to shove wet, bedraggled strands out of her face, but she knew that was a futile effort, especially when she heard a muffled laugh coming from one of the open doors.
“Shut it,” she growled.
Hugh spread his hands in a gesture of pure innocence. “I haven’t said anything yet.”
How she wished she held a regular hose spray nozzle, rather than the power washer. After all, she didn’t want to damage him; it just would’ve been nice to wash that annoying grin off his face. “Let’s keep it that way.”
He laughed. “What fun is that? Talking is one of my favorite things to do.”
“Obviously,” she muttered. He couldn’t have just stayed quiet, swallowed his smirk, and walked away. He was Hugh. Obviously, the explosion hadn’t damaged him too much if he still felt up to teasing her. Her next words tumbled out of her mouth without her permission. “How’s your head?”
His smile dimmed just slightly before returning to full wattage. “Still where it’s supposed to be. I might have lost a few brain cells, but there were plenty to spare.”
Grace rolled her eyes. Of course he would joke about almost dying. Forget that she hadn’t been able to sleep or think about anything else for the past five days since Jules had told her about the explosion. She didn’t know why she cared, why she worried about him, why the idea of him almost dying made her heart hurt. It wasn’t like they were friends. Every time they saw each other, they argued. Even now, seeing Hugh all happy and smirky and healthy-looking, she felt her worry turn to annoyance. “Have you found out who planted the bomb yet?”
“Can’t talk about an ongoing investigation,” he said lightly. “You know what we can talk about, though?”
“What?” she asked warily. He was just a few steps away, and she realized that she’d been moving closer without even realizing it. Stupid feet. Don’t they know he’s an ass?
Hugh gestured at her soaked coveralls. “This incredibly fashion-forward look you have going here.”
Her finger hovered close to the trigger. So maybe he’d lose a little skin if she gave him a quick spray. Really, it was what he deserved. With a great effort of will, she kept the washer down at her side.
“You like it?” Posing with her free hand on her hip, she gave him her best sultry-model face. If she had to be stuck wearing wet coveralls and too-large rubber boots, then she was going to own the look.
He chuckled, although his gaze heated as he took her in. “Oh yeah. It’s kennel chic.”
“Right.” Dropping the pose, she frowned at him, trying to figure out why he was looking at her like he wanted to eat her. There was nothing appealing about her at the moment. She knew this even before she glanced down again, confirming the horrid state of her appearance. “I miss wearing pretty things.”
Immediately, his gaze sharpened. “Pretty things? Like what you used to wear to work? What did you do before in…Bangor?”
That slight pause reminded her that he was a cop—a cop who thought she was a liar. Tipping her head, she gave him a flirty look. “You want to know something?”
“Yeah. What?” He moved a half step closer, his inquisitive expression shifting to something a little…hungrier.
She smiled and leaned toward him. His gaze dropped to her lips. “I’m beginning to understand why someone would want to blow you up.”
To her surprise, he laughed. It made him even more stupidly attractive than usual, and Grace found herself unable to look away. “I’m told that a lot.”
Thrown off guard, she scrambled for a witty retort. “Maybe you should, you know, work on that.”
“Work on fixing my personality?” He leaned against the wall, and Grace gave a silent sigh. It looked as if he was settling in for a chat. As much as she welcomed an interruption from kennel cleaning, Hugh wasn’t her first pick. Whenever he was around, she felt strange, unsettled, almost jittery. He’d pop into her head at odd times, and just the thought of him sent a rush of adrenaline through her veins. It was…uncomfortable.
She realized that he was watching her with a tiny, knowing smile, and she tried to remember what they’d been talking about. “Whatever.” Grace figured that would cover most potential topics. “Why are you here?”
“Otto’s working with his latest project.”
“That explains why he’s here. Why are you here?”
He smirked. The man was impossible to offend. “I was bored, so I tagged along. It’s a good thing, too. We haven’t talked much lately. I was going to stop by to watch Tattered Hearts with you again, but Theo gave me a little lecture about the importance of keeping my lockpicks in my pants.”
“What a shame,” she said flatly, proud of herself for not giving in and smiling. It was hard to resist Hugh’s easy charm. “Well, this was a nice chat. We’ll have to do it again sometime…or not.”
His grin grew, and it became harder to keep her deadpan expression in place. “Oh, our visit isn’t over. Otto won’t be done for a while yet. So tell me, Not-Grace, how long did you live in Bangor?”
“Almost two years.”
“And before that?”
“Austin, Texas.”
“For how long?”
“Eight months.”
“Before that?”
“Portland.”
“Maine or Oregon?”
“Oregon.”
“Do you ever tell the truth?”
“Why do you think I’m lying?”
He smiled at her—a long, slow, easy, predatory baring of his teeth. “I can tell when someone’s lying. It’s my superpower.”
Grace shivered and immediately hoped he hadn’t noticed. By his expression, however, he’d seen it. He looked like a smug house cat, ready to pounce on a trapped mouse. “It’s none of your business. So I’ve moved around a lot. That’s not a crime. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Then why are you lying?”
“I told you.” To her annoyance, she couldn’t hold his gaze. Turning her head, she stared at one of the kennels. “I’m not lying. Go away. I have to get back to work.”
She started spraying down the kennels again. The entire time, she felt his gaze on the back of her neck, as hot as sunburn on her skin. It made her crazy that he could bring out such a reaction in her, when she was just a suspect to him. Every time Hugh was nearby, her skin buzzed and her blood flowed faster, and when he left, she felt let down and lonely. He was a cop, and an annoying one at that. Why did she allow him to affect her like this? When she reached the end of the row, she couldn’t take it anymore. Turning, she huffed, “Would you please just…”
He was gone.
She glanced around, but she was alone. Moving over to the door, she looked out and saw Hugh limping slightly as he made his way to the squad car.
It was her turn to watch him. Crazily enough, she felt slightly deflated now that he’d left. Shaking off her idiotic thoughts, she firmed her jaw and turned back to the kennels. Forget Hugh, she told herself firmly. There’s poo to clean.
Even so, sh
e couldn’t resist a final glance out the open door.
* * *
“Do you hate working there?”
Grace opened her mouth to tell the truth, but what came out was the complete opposite. “No.”
The relieved look on Jules’s face made the lie worth it. “Oh, I’m so glad! Nan loves you already, said you’re such a good worker and that she is already hoping that you’ll keep working there forever.”
With a forced smile, Grace mentally hunted for something positive to say. “Nan’s nice.” True. “And the dogs are cute.” Also true.
Jules beamed at her, giving her arm a pat with the hand that wasn’t holding the coffeepot. “That’s wonderful! I’m so glad you found a job you like.”
It took considerable effort for Grace to keep her false grin from turning into a grimace. “Sure is.” Her cheeks were starting to ache from the effort. “I think that family over there is trying to get your attention.”
After glancing over her shoulder, Jules turned back to Grace. “I’d better actually, you know, work. You’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” Her smile became a little more genuine. Jules was just so sweet. She never seemed bitter about giving up her life to move to this pokey little town to play mom to her siblings and keep their disaster of a house upright using only strength of will and duct tape. Sometimes, Jules would make a joke that reminded Grace of Penny, and she’d miss her friend so much that it felt like her heart was being yanked out of her chest. “Go on. They look hungry.”
With a final arm pat, Jules headed for the family’s booth, and Grace could finally slump down and wallow like she’d wanted to do since she’d started her new, poo-filled job several days ago. One of the hardest things about living with five other people—four of them kids—was that she couldn’t just mope around the house after work, eating ice cream and watching trashy television and fully indulging in a flat-out my-life-sucks sulk. Her room wasn’t much of an escape. When she’d tried to hide the previous night, Dee had knocked, asking if Grace was okay, if she was sure she was okay, if she was absolutely positive she was okay, sounding more and more worried until Grace had plastered on a smile and emerged from her room to prove she was indeed okay. Dee had then talked her into playing one game of checkers that had turned into four.